


Maybe One Day

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (with a possible happy future), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: When Crowley does not show up to their meeting, Aziraphale goes to find out why.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 115





	Maybe One Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisalicious/gifts).

Something has been done, which most certainly should not have been.

Or, if Aziraphale were a good angel, he would think it should. He would be pleased to see Evil ™ thwarted. And not be concerned for a demon’s wellbeing. 

He isn’t sure what it was. He knows Holy Water will utterly extinguish a demon (he’s… unfortunately heard the tales from some rather more bellicose angels). Hallowed ground is also Bad (Good?) for hellspawn. But those, he assumes, are rather more dangerous than whatever has occurred here.

Crowley had missed their rendezvous. Crowley rarely missed an engagement, especially not one he had arranged. Aziraphale had, at first, been put out and hurt. He’d considered storming off and ignoring any future correspondence. He’d thought about arranging a follow-up and then _him_ being the one to ‘stand up’ the demon. And he’d thought all sorts of uncharitable words and chastised himself for being in this situation at all.

But… it was unlike Crowley. Entirely unlike Crowley. He was mischievous, yes. A prankster. Occasionally worse. But - for all that was said - he had never… been… utterly bad. And he had rarely been more than a slight annoyance to Aziraphale himself. 

And he _was_ usually the most stimulating and engaging and forthcoming party in any… party. 

So Aziraphale had sought out the inn he expected Crowley to be taking lodgings in. Whilst ale houses were an acceptable source of intoxicating beverages for the angel, the demon also enjoyed other activities. The types that included beds.

Which Aziraphale had never once enquired about, lest he receive more details than he was prepared for. 

But he’d felt something wrong the moment he entered the lodging, snapped brusquely at the innkeep, and taken the steps three at a time.

Whereupon he’d found the room that Crowley had taken, opened the door, and found him… collapsed around a porcelain item which there was no way he ever would normally have needed. Insensate and struck with rigors, which hadn’t passed when he’d hefted the flimsy thing onto the horrid bed.

Where he still lies. His eyes working as if to read great treatise beneath his clammy, closed eyelids. His vibrant hair stuck down and near-black with sweat. His skin wan and wet, as he stirs in what would likely be a fierce fit, if he only had the wherewithal. 

Poison, perhaps. Or a curse. Can demons be cursed? Blessed? His body shouldn’t suffer beyond what it allows, unless it is injured beyond repair. And if it is, what then? Would Hell furnish another? Would his dem-- would the demon even be allowed to return? What if it was Hell whom he’d displeased? Was this a punishment, or even a trap?

He has no idea, and only Human medicine to rely upon. 

Lain flat. Head supported. Damp cloth, the better to dab at his brow. He cannot administer any medicine, he cannot miracle away what he neither understands, nor understands _why_. All he can do is fret, dabbing at that brow, and whispering quiet reassurance.

I’m here, dear boy. I’m here. I won’t leave you. You are safe.

Things he shouldn’t say. Things he can’t say. Things that will damn him utterly, should anyone truly be watching.

He says them, anyway, and clasps one hand in worried vigil. 

“...a-angsssshel…” 

“Yes?” He perks, eyes wide, reading the demon’s face. “Crowley? My dear? Can you hear me?”

“Fffffthough you’d… ftttttthough they’d ssssseen you…”

“Who? Is it who did this to you?”

“Caaaant…. hurt m’angsssshel. S’ssssafe. Gotta…. Sssssafe.”

He’s not coherent enough to be questioned, and Aziraphale smiles at the half-conscious confession. “Did someone do this?”

“M’angsssshel?”

“Yes?”

“You ‘kay?”

“I’m quite well, other than worried about you.”

“S’sssssokay, then. Ssssstopped them. Can’t… can’t lossssse….”

Whatever he’d done. However he’d done it. He’d rescued Aziraphale, and the angel had spent the best part of the afternoon cursing his name for not showing up. That stings. Stings so badly. He bends to kiss his forehead, to better hide the swell of pain.

“You stopped them. And you… you were so brave. So kind. So now you must let me take care of you.”

“M’kaaaay. BurrIloveyou… gotta… keep… ssssafe.”

Delirium loosening his tongue, putting voice to what Aziraphale has long known, feared, hoped… one or all of those things. 

He wants to cry. Their love - their love is so dangerous. Even to feel it is to court death. He’s put his demon in such a terrible bind, and he… he can’t. He can’t be responsible for losing him. 

So he’ll lie. He’ll push him further away. This nonsense of his, indulging his demon, it has to stop. 

They’ll just have to… have to find a way to be less… them. And it will kill him, but he’ll make Crowley believe it’s only one way. He must. To protect him. 

But not today. Not tonight. Not when he doubts Crowley will remember he was even here at all, if he left now. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, and it feels so good and terrible in one to say it. He won’t, again. He won’t, to keep him safe. “I love you, too. But you must rest. Rest and heal. I will watch over you.”

A little snicker, and a momentary flash of amber eyes. “M’own guardian…”

“Quite.” Oh, it’s like a knife to the gut. “But rest. You need to recover. And I will make you rest if I have to.”

A reluctant chirr, and then Crowley’s limited energy seems to peter out all at once. “...kay.”

Aziraphale feels the back of his head with his hand, and nods. Blankets. He needs blankets. 

Whatever he needs, he’ll get. 

Except this one thing.

Losing Crowley isn’t worth… unlosing him. Finding him. For both their sakes, they can’t. 

Crowley is smiling in his sleep. A shy, spacey little expression, but there, all the same. 

Maybe one day. Maybe.

Maybe then Crowley won’t need his protection. 

It can’t come quickly enough.


End file.
